


Like Fire and Ice

by judithandronicus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Embarrassment, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Bucky Barnes, POV Bucky Barnes, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky Remix 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: Bucky Barnes is handsome, athletic, and can charm the pants off of pretty much anyone he meets. The kind of alpha omegas dream about. But Mother Nature apparently didn't get the memo. Presenting as an omega turns Bucky's world upside down, but thankfully, he's got his best pal Steve to help him through it all.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 78
Kudos: 374
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Stucky Remix 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forging the Shield](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331592) by [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania). 



> I want to say a big thank you to Politzania for offering up their wonderful fic to remix. I hope I did you justice on this!  
> This is my first attempt at a/b/o dynamics, and I really appreciated the source material offering the bones of Steve's POV to work through. And, you know, providing a pairing and dynamic that avoids the more dubcon elements of a/b/o fics. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to say I had Serious Writerly Reasons for stopping the remix after ch. 4 of Forging the Shield, but the truth is, I ran out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Fill: B4 (1930s)

Bucky woke to a pain like nothing he’d ever felt, a jagged, heated blade tearing through his stomach. He was doubled over, fisting threadbare sheets, soaked through with sweat, and gasping for air. It hurt— _everything_ hurt—too much to take in a full breath. He shivered in the chill of the room, made all the more potent by the sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe, even as a fire tore through his insides like it was threatening to tear him apart.

“Jimmy? What’s all the racket?” Bucky was only vaguely aware of his ma coming into his room until she knelt by his bed. “Oh _sweetheart,_ ” she cooed as she brushed a strand of damp hair off of his sweaty forehead and drew him into the comfort of her arms. Bucky’s ma smelled like cinnamon and fresh linens and _comfort_ and _home._ He relaxed a bit into his mother’s embrace, letting her rock him like he was still a kid. Snuggled up in his ma’s arms, everything felt just a little less dire.

But only for a moment. 

“I don’t feel so good, Ma,” he stuttered, his voice breaking off into a pained groan as another cramp shot through his abdomen. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tight, biting down on his lower lip so hard the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth; he was shaking all over, simultaneously burning up from inside and shivering from the chill of the room, and it all hurt and it was too much. She kissed him on the forehead like she would do when he was little—part to soothe, part to check if he had a fever—and then pulled back, cupping his head in her hands. She wiped the tears he hadn’t realized he was crying away from from his cheeks. “You’re burnin’ up,” she said, giving just the slightest shake of her head, “you got a fever. What else don’t feel right?”

“Mostly my stomach,” Bucky punctuated his words by keeling over, arms wrapped tight around his middle, “and I—my head hurts like the dickens, too. And everything feels hot inside, even though I’m cold. I..I can’t quite explain it.”

Winifred eyed him appraisingly, and ran a careful hand along his face. “I’ll be right back,” she said, patting him on the cheek before rising up and quickly leaving the room. When she returned, she held a hot water bottle in one hand, and a damp cloth in the other. She guided him to lie on his back and then pressed the rubber disk to his stomach. “Keep hold of this, Jimmy,” she began, “it should help with the stomach cramps.” She then wiped at his sweaty brow with the damp cloth before pressing another kiss to the center of his head. “You just try to rest now, baby boy. I’ve sent for someone to get you some help. No school for you today.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Bucky replied, fluttering his eyes closed. The heat from the hot water bottle soothed some of the ache, which allowed him to realize just how utterly exhausted he was. Maybe a bit of a nap would perk him up.

Bucky drifted off into a restless, fevered sleep.

* * *

He woke with Steve’s name on his lips and, as usual when he dreamt of Stevie, the remnants of a boner in his underpants. But something was different, he realized as he came into consciousness. It was like Stevie was nearby, somehow, almost like he could _smell_ him off in the distance, a little bit. Just a hint of that salty ocean scent that for some reason, always made Bucky think of his best pal. ‘Course, Stevie _wasn’t_ there, because he was at school, and Bucky was home sick as a dog, all feverish and worn down and feeling like someone was sticking red-hot pokers through his belly.

Stevie’s ma, though, _she_ was here, and she was telling him in her typical take-no-shit fashion that he needed to sit up and drink some water. As he obeyed, the now _cold_ water bottle slipped off the bed, landing on the floor with a slosh. Almost instinctively, Bucky brought his hands to press against his middle, the gentle pressure easing some of the coiled, fiery ache deep in his belly. His ma watched from the doorway as Mrs. Rogers popped a thermometer into his mouth, then pressed the cold metal of a stethoscope to his chest and demanded that he breathe.

“He’s got a fever, for certain, but nothing else seems out of order,” Mrs. Rogers spoke more to his mother than to him, her voice brusque, more clipped than usual.

A clatter from outside alerted them to the older two girls’ arrival home from school, and sent Winifred scurrying down the hallway, hollering for Lucy and Becca to remember their manners, for love and mercy, they have _company!_

When his ma had disappeared, leaving nothing but the echo of her voice chastising his little sisters from the distance, Sarah turned to Bucky. Her face was the portrait of concern as she patted the back of his hand. “James,” she began, her earlier tone now replaced by something gentler, “do you know what’s happening to you?”

Bucky stared up at her, blankly at first, but as he looked into those knowing eyes, the realization hit him like a wrecking ball. Tears stung at his eyes; the room spun; everything suddenly clicked into place even as his entire world got flipped ass over teakettle.

“I…I’m going into heat,” he whispered.

She just squeezed his hand and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Fill: C5 (Masturbation)

If he took the time to think too hard about it, Bucky would be mortified.

He _should_ be mortified, goddamnit; this wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

Don’t get him wrong, Bucky didn’t have any delusions of alpha-level manliness, what with how he couldn’t stop the impure thoughts about Steve from taking over when he let himself relax into it. But he’d never _act_ on those impulses or anything, dammit. Jesus Mary and Joseph, the last thing he’d ever dream of doin’ was letting Stevie know _any_ of the fucked up shit he dreamt about.

Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get dames, didn’t like ‘em; he liked ‘em just _fine,_ and spending time with them was a lotta fun. He loved how they were all soft curves and plump lips and how good it felt to have that softness pressed against the hard planes of his body. It’s not like he _couldn’t_ get Stevie outta his mind, even when he was kissing Mary and she pulled his hand up to cup her tit. If he really wanted to, sure he could. He just…didn’t want to, maybe? It was just there in the back of his mind, that question of what it would feel like to run his hands over Steve’s flat chest, to feel those lips—plumper and pinker than any gal Bucky’d ever saw—against his.

So maybe he thought about Steve a lot; but thinking ain’t _acting_ , and he would never act on it. Stevie deserved so much better’n that, definitely better than some lug like _him._

God, just thinking about Steve now made him hot all over, made the pain in his belly that much more intense.

Bucky stared at the package sitting on his nightstand, the one Stevie had brought from his ma along with his homework. The package with the… _supplies_ Mrs. Rogers had told him would help him feel better.

* * *

When he’d first opened the box, Bucky’s face flushed with shame and disbelief. _[Dr. Young's Ideal Rectal Dilators](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2f/DrYoungsIdealRectalDilators_Advertisement_DetroitMedicalJournal_August1905.jpg)_ , the inside of the box lid proclaimed—thank _Christ_ it wasn’t on the outside— _For the Treatment of Piles, Constipation, and Omega Heat-Sickness._ Contained within were four hard black rubber bullets, _rectal dilators,_ and holy mother _fuck_ that last one looked huge.

 _This_ could _not_ be happening to him. This could not be his life. Not to mention the added torment of opening it right smack dab in front of Stevie, lookin’ all concerned and worried.

Even more mortifying, though, was that he wasn’t disgusted at ‘em.

Oh, Mary Mother of God, he could feel a familiar tension starting up, all that fire licking around his spine coiling up deep in his belly, boner threatening to pop at any moment. Because Steve was _right there_ and smelled so damn good and all of a sudden the thought of something going inside his ass was sounding real fucking good.

Poor Steve had been confused when Bucky shooed him outta his room, but it had been necessary when he felt the wetness between his cheeks. Oh _fuck._

“See ya, Stevie,” he’d gritted out as he pushed his friend out of his room, “thanks for stopping by, and tell your ma thanks for the stuff.”

“But Buck—” Steve wiggled a little, skinny bicep straining against Bucky’s grip as they went, but Bucky was on a mission.

“I’ll talk to ya later, pal,” and unceremoniously slammed the door in his face. He’d turned toward his rickety bed in the corner, then stopped. The last thing he needed if he was gonna do this was a surprise audience. He’d grabbed the chair at his little desk, and then jammed it underneath the doorknob so that he could have just a little peace and quiet before he…what? Stuck one of those bullets in his ass? Was that _really_ gonna make the ache in his belly go away? _Goddamn everything to hell. How is this actually happening?_

As he eyed the box suspiciously, Bucky was bowled over by the surge of another heat-cramp. This one seemed to cut a jagged line from somewhere behind his dick straight up toward his sternum, knocking the wind out of him as it went, bending him over with a double whammy of intense, stabbing pain wrapped up in a deeper, all-encompassing ache for…for _something._ A something he’d never known and didn’t quite understand and all the while images of Stevie just kept flooding his mind and making it all hurt worse.

 _Fuck it._ It’s worth a shot. Bucky reached for the box, bringing it to rest on his lap as he sat at the edge of his bed, willing himself to stop bouncing his legs to hold it steady. This time when he opened the box, he took more than a cursory, embarrassed glance inside, and noticed a small, folded paper tucked into the side closest to the big one.

James,  
  
These dilators should help with the most intense of your mating urges and lessen the severity of your other symptoms. Be sure to wait until you’re suitably aroused and lubricated before attempting insertion, and start small, with the tips of your fingers, just to loosen things up. For your first heat, I also recommend coating both your fingers and the dilator with some of the petroleum jelly included here.  
  
A hot water bottle will ease the abdominal cramping somewhat, but Mrs. O’Meara makes an elixir that does wonders for heat-sickness. I’ll send a bottle along with Steve tomorrow when he brings your schoolwork.  
  
Remember, James, that presenting is all a completely normal part of growing up, and that taking care of yourself and your needs is a perfectly natural and healthy.  
  
Regards,  
  
Sarah Rogers

Okay, so having Steve’s ma tell him to lube up the rubber bullet before he shoved it up his ass may have been the most humiliating thing Bucky could remember happening to him—even more embarrassing than the time he wet the bed when Stevie was sleeping with him, even—but thankfully nobody else was here to see him squirm about it.

Besides, if it could relieve the pressure, the ache in his belly, the fire shooting through every nerve-ending, Bucky was willing to give it a try. He set the box on the bed and rooted around to get the little tin of vaseline, too, like Mrs. Rogers had instructed, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph he was gonna need to stop thinking of Steve’s ma right now before he just combusted from mortification. He took a big breath and shimmied out of his pants and underwear.

_What do I do now?_

Bucky eyed the tin suspiciously. Mrs. Rogers did say to use it, he reminded himself. _Seriously, stop thinking about Stevie’s ma._ He unscrewed the lid and opened the tin. Better to be prepared and all that. Then he lay back against his pillow. 

_Shit_. It’s not like Bucky hadn’t jerked off before, so why did it suddenly feel so different? Okay, so maybe the wetness squelching between his cheeks and dripping down onto his blanket had _something_ to do with that. Bucky clenched the muscles of his ass like he could somehow weld himself shut, cut off…whatever gland he couldn’t remember the name of from that pamphlet Mrs. Rogers left that was up _somewhere_ in his asshole that was spitting slick like a busted gasket.

It didn’t work. And now he was thinking about that time he and Steve helped Mr. Shaughnessy stop his beat-to-shit A-Model from spewing oil all over the alley behind the school.

God, _Stevie._

Bucky’s cock jumped a bit thinking back to that day, how Stevie had stripped down to his undershirt to keep the oil from dirtying up his shirt. A warmth pooled low in his belly as he remembered the sweat trickling from his best pal’s neck and sliding between the sharp protrusions of his collarbones, how the thin white material turned nearly translucent from it, how he could see just the shadow of his friend’s nipples begin to stand at attention as the fabric brushed against them. Bucky’d nearly shot off in his pants that afternoon, just from watching Stevie move in that sweat-soaked undershirt.

 _Fuck._ Bucky knew he should feel guilty for it, for thinking about his lifelong best friend like a goddamned _dame,_ but _fuck._ His dick was so hard now, flushed and angry-looking and even hotter than the rest of his body, somehow, and between his cheeks. Shit. Bucky’s felt himself flush, but goddamn if he didn’t feel it now, more sure and certain than he’d ever been of anything. He knew it, just _knew_ that the ache in his belly could be eased; he just needed a little help to scratch the itch, so to speak.

Bucky grabbed hold of his hard-on with his left hand, and damned if that didn’t feel strange. He slid the pad of his thumb over the tip, teasing along the edge of his foreskin to feel the wetness starting to bubble at the tip. He massaged the head with his fingertips to spread the precome around, and then started to stroke himself. Just short, twisting pulls at the tip to start before easing his fist down his length as he quickly acclimated to the familiar motions with his non-dominant hand.

It felt good, the way jerking off always felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Bucky gave his dick a firm squeeze, and then brought his other hand down to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his palm until the tip of his middle finger brushed his taint. _Fuck._ He bit his lip to keep from shouting, his whole body suddenly tense and quivering at the jolt of pleasure zinging through his nerves from that glancing touch. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, and then took a sharp breath in to steady himself.

The second touch was slower, more deliberate. He stroked his fingertips back and forth across that rough line of skin between his balls and his ass, playing with different pressure as he did. He was messy with slick, and maybe in the back of his mind Bucky thought maybe he should’ve felt embarrassed at that, but how could he feel embarrassed about anything when he was too busy feeling so damn good? Everything down there was so _sensitive;_ even the lightest brushes of his fingers sent shivers running through his body, and the slick just made it feel that much better.

Bucky couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping even though he was still biting his bottom lip, teeth clamped down and sucking hard enough for the taste of copper to flood his mouth. He tugged on his dick as he spread his legs wider, planting his feet and curling his spine so that he could reach to graze his fingertips along the sensitive, wrinkled flesh of his hole. It felt good; beyond good, it felt _right_ ; it went against everything Bucky had ever learned that he was supposed to want and like, and right then, Bucky didn’t give a single solitary fuck about what his ma and teachers and priests had to tell him about being a man.

All Bucky knew in that moment was _want_ and _need_ and _now_ and nothing else mattered, could ever matter, beyond satisfying that bone-deep need to be filled.

_Alpha._

_Knot._

_Stevie._

With his best friend’s name a whisper on his lips, Bucky pushed the tip of his middle finger against his slick hole, gasping in surprise when it slipped inside. _Wow. Wow oh wow oh wow._ He gave his finger a wiggle, then rubbed lightly around his entrance. It felt new and different and maybe a little weird, but only because it _didn’t_ feel weird, and Bucky really didn’t care if his thoughts were making sense or not, anyway. Not now, not when he was so close to getting some relief. _So_ close.

Inside his flesh felt even hotter than his flushed skin, and the slick channel squeezed like a vise as he worked his finger in deeper. He wiggled it around some more, made gentle circles as he explored, pressing against those smooth inner walls as he clenched around his finger, feeling them pulse against the intrusion. _Take deep breaths to relax yourself if you feel yourself tightening up against the dilator,_ the instructions had said, so he took a ragged gulp of air, then another, and another.

Soon, Bucky’s breathing began to steady, and he noticed the slick muscles starting to have a little more give. Digging in his heels, he gave his hips an experimental thrust, pushing his finger deeper inside, and yes, _yes_ that was very good. Bucky eased his finger out until the tip caught on his rim, and then slid back in, slow and smooth. He began to move in earnest, finger-fucking himself to the same frantic rhythm as he stroked his leaking cock.

Bucky dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed, and let his mind wander. Of course his thoughts drifted to Steve; they always went to Steve. He let himself imagine it was Steve’s fist wrapped tight around his cock, Steve’s long, nimble finger probing inside his depths. “Yes, Stevie, _more_ ,” he mumbled.

Yes. More. That’s what Bucky needed. _More._ He withdrew his finger entirely, hissing at the loss, and then fumbled for the vaseline tin. Fast as a comet, he scooped some onto his fingers and brought his hand back between his cheeks. This time, he used two fingers to tease at his pucker, now gone softer and pliant, and before he knew it, both were pressing inside, easy as you please. It was a bit of a stretch, at first, but god _damn_ did it feel good—better’n just one, by leaps and bounds. Quicker than he probably should’ve, Bucky was moving those two fingers around, twisting his wrist and exploring different angles until the burn gave way to an almost pleasant fullness. It was certainly _getting_ there, getting closer to what his body needed.

Just as he began to scissor his fingers a little, hissing at the new stretch to his rim, a dribble of sweat trickled from his brow to the corner of his eye. Caught of guard by the salty sting of it, Bucky brought his left hand up to wipe his eye, then push the sweat-damp hair from his forehead. He was still sweating all over, now that he was consciously aware of it, even more than before, his whole body glistening with the sheen of it. Met with the chill of the January air—Bucky’s room was draftier than his sisters’, but that was the price of privacy—his nipples pebbled up. He teased at one, then the other, lightly squeezing and rolling the nubs, enjoying the little thrums of pleasure the gentle touches sparked. Then, just for shits and giggles, he took one firm between his thumb nail and index finger and pinched, _hard._ He gasped at the sharpness of it, hips jerking involuntarily. _Yes. Good._ He gave the other nipple the same treatment, and filed that information away to be used later. 

Intense pleasure-pain was firing from every one of Bucky’s synapses, his hips bucking of their own volition as he played with his nipples and fucked himself harder on his fingers. His slick was leaking even more now; he could feel it dribbling, hot and wet, between his cheeks. It felt good, it all felt so good, it was so goddamn _intense,_ but it wasn’t enough. Thoughtlessly—too thoughtlessly, but _fuck it,_ time was of the goddamn _essence_ , lives were on the line or something—Bucky worked a third finger inside, fast and hard and as deep as he could get. But the angle just didn’t quite work. He lifted his left knee to his chest and wrapped his unoccupied hand around the back of his thigh, leaving his angry cock leaking and neglected against his belly.

If only he could get further, deeper. _More._ He curled in on himself, abs straining as he struggled to reach deeper inside, bending his fingers slightly as he moved them so that he brushed up against _something_ on the way out, and _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._ Bucky saw stars; his vision got blurry at the edges; he wanted to die and live forever in this moment. He pressed the pad of his middle finger against the bump, tentative and experimental, and it happened again. Bucky rocked his hips up and rubbed against his prostate again and again, and before he knew it, he was coming all over his belly without even touching his dick.

_That’s new._

Bucky threw his head back and bit his lower lip as he rode the crest of his orgasm and what felt like never-ending aftershocks, his dick spurting out more dribbles of come each time his ass clenched around his fingers. By the time he pulled his fingers out of his hole, he was tired and sweaty and ready—oh so ready—for the blissful stillness he felt after such an intense release.

Only it…wasn’t happening. He was still breathless from the exertion of it, now sticky all over from a godforsaken combination of sweat, slick, and come, and that fire in his belly was _still there_. Goddamn.

Flushed and frantic with need, Bucky grabbed for the box. After an appraising glance at its contents, he passed over the smallest bullet in favor of the second, which looked (he hoped) to be longer and larger diameter than two fingers together. He scooped another glob of vaseline from the tin and smeared it on the pointed end, even though his slick was dribbling so heavy from his hole he couldn’t imagine he _needed_ it. But when Sarah Rogers tells you to do something, you do it.

 _Good goddamn, Barnes,_ he chastised himself, _stop thinking about Steve’s ma._ And just like that, soon as his pal’s name passed through his mind, Bucky was a goner again. _Stevie._ He whimpered, letting himself imagine how it would feel to have Steve on top of him, sharp lines of his hip bones wrapped in creamy white skin, soft as silk as he moved above Bucky. He thought of Steve’s ass, small and round and tight and perfect, how it would feel to grab hold of those firm cheeks and pull Steve in closer. Bucky brought the rounded tip of the bullet to his hole, pushing against the furl with a teasing, soft pressure, and he let himself imagine it was Steve. Steve’s dick, hard and flushed and dripping wet at the plump head, teasing him. “ _Is this what you want, Buck? You want my cock? You want me to fill you up with my fat alpha knot and make you scream from it?”_

“Yes, Stevie,” Bucky gasped as he pushed the tip of the dilator inside, “need your alpha dick. Gimme your knot!” He barely recognized his voice, a reedy wisp of a thing as he begged and whined for Steve’s dick. His eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed the bullet in further. So good. It felt so _so_ good as he clenched around the hard rubber, sending waves of pleasure singing out from his very core. But it still wasn’t quite _enough._ He wiggled the dilator around, seeking out that spot that made his head dance, and oh oh _oh yes there._ That’s the stuff.

Doing his best to keep the angle just so, Bucky began to fuck himself with the dilator, short and steady thrusts that pulled just right on that spot on the exit. The pressure built slower than the wildfire from the last round, but Bucky was still hurtling headlong toward a bigger crescendo than he’d ever even imagined. He slid his free hand through the come on his stomach and grabbed his cock. It was awkward at first, getting into a rhythm, but soon he was going wild with it, fucking up into his fist and then down onto the bullet, the one-two punch bringing him to the edge like a goddamn freight train. And when he fell over that edge, he yowled from it, whining and moaning like a whore as jizz spurted, hot and wet, from his angry, purpled cock.

This time, it was less of a surprise, how he was still desperate for more, even as he was left boneless and panting. His hole was damn near spasming from the force of his climax, but it just wasn’t enough. It was like when he had chicken pox as a kid, and scratching the itchy spots just made the damn things itch _more._ Only this time, the itch buried itself so deep in Bucky’s insides he didn’t know how he’d ever reach it.

The Dr. Young’s box caught his eye again, and he figured he’d go for it. Straight for Number 4. That intimidating fucker was long and fat and looked bigger around than the whole of Stevie’s wrist, for fuck’s sake, that was sure to take the edge off, right? Bucky chuckled, giddy and desperate, because it couldn’t have been more than an hour ago that he was scandalized, downright _scandalized_ by the contents of that box, and here he was, about to jam the fattest one of those rubber bullets up his ass. He skipped the middle man this go ‘round, and just dunked the tip of it into the tin, got all ready to go, and held it in wait while he tugged the smaller dilator out.

Bucky couldn’t control the whine as his hole reluctantly let go of the bullet. It was so empty, fluttering and clenching on nothing and that just wouldn’t do at all. He immediately lined up the tip of Number 4 and started to work it in. _Yes, yes that’s better._ His entrance was soft and pliant now, wetter than sin with his slick, now oozing between his cheeks and dripping onto the bed below. As the bullet began to disappear in his needy hole, Bucky couldn’t stop touching himself, rubbing around his sensitive rim with the fingers of his free hand, feeling his hole stretching wide to welcome the hard rubber intrusion.

It was a stretch, Number 4, but Bucky relished the burn of it, felt himself getting even slicker as he pushed it deeper. Thick and hard and so much better than just his fingers or the smaller one. _Finally,_ he sighed, a weird combination of contented and frantic, when the flared end of the dilator brushed the outside of his hole. He finally felt full enough, like he could finally reach that itch. So good. Well, good enough. Better’n what he’d already tried, but nowhere near the satisfaction of a knot, a flesh and blood knot popped big and solid inside his ass. _Where the fuck is that even coming from?_

Bucky clenched around the dilator, wiggling his hips, and gyrated until it was angled just right inside him, then gripped his cock and started jerking himself for all he was worth. He got lost in the pleasure of it, coming at him from front and back, and let himself get lost in the fantasy, in what he so desperately wanted and knew that he’d never get to have. Him and Stevie, snuggled up tight in his bed, Steve’s dick pressing hard and heavy at the cleft of his ass, Steve’s arm reaching around his waist to stroke his leaking erection.

_Stevie Stevie Stevie._

Bucky stripped his cock faster and ground down on the dilator as he imagined Steve pressing inside him, slow and sweet and oh so loving. Because o’course Stevie would be; he’d take such good care of Bucky and make him feel so safe and warm and loved.

Because that right there, ladies and gentlemen, that was Bucky’s biggest fantasy, and his deepest, darkest secret. James Buchanan Barnes was ass over teakettle in love with Steven Grant Rogers.

 _“Love you, Buck,_ ” he imagined how it would feel to taste those words on Steve’s tongue, and Bucky was ready to die he wanted it so bad, _“to the end of the line, pal.”_ He was sobbing as his orgasm tore through him, full-fledged, body-wracking sobs as he came and came and came.

Third time’s a charm. As he continued to tremble in his aftershocks, Bucky realized his cock was finally starting to soften, the fire in his belly finally quenched. Heat sated, at long last. At least for the time being, he reminded himself, his brain already going a little fuzzy at the edges. His bed was a mess of slick and come and sweat and vaseline, but he’d have to deal with that in a little while. Right now he needed to close his eyes, just a little. He scrambled underneath the blanket and curled up on his side, limbs folded in protectively against the chill of the room, of the world outside.

_I’m an omega._

In the moments before he fell into a restless sleep, Bucky let himself get swept up in grief for the life he expected to have, and for the life he knew he couldn’t allow himself to want.

_What’s Steve gonna think about me now?_


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of Bucky’s first heat passed uneventfully—well, as uneventfully as a monumental life change could be, Bucky reckoned. Between using the care package to…well, to take care of himself, and the elixir from Miz O’Meara, Bucky got through the rest of the week.

Okay, so maybe his dick was a little chafed and his ass sore from all the getting himself off, but that calmed down pretty quick.

Okay, and maybe it was hard to look his best pal in the eyes for a while after, what with all the sinful thoughts Bucky’d had about him while getting off.

The week after, Bucky had trekked several miles to go to confession. Because no matter what Mrs. Rogers said about normal and natural…Bucky couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Not when his Ma had looked at him like a stranger when she’d poked her head into his room. Not when she recoiled, tears in her eyes, when he’d gone to rest his head on her shoulder while he was heating up water to fill the hot water bottle. Not when she pointedly refused to talk about how he was feeling until it had all worked its way out of his system.

No, Bucky thought sadly, his new designation may have been normal and natural for other people, but not for him. 

* * *

Winter passed into spring, and for a couple months there, things got back to normal. His ma loosened up, and even started back up with her usual yelling and carrying on about keeping on top of his school work and treating his gal Mary like a lady.

“You keep it in your pants, Jimmy. The last thing we need is another mouth— _two_ mouths, Jesus Mary and Joseph—to feed in this house because you couldn’t wait until marriage like God intended.”

“You wound me, Ma,” Bucky dramatically clasped his hands over his heart, flashing a wicked grin, “I’m _always_ a perfect gentleman!” Then he winked over at Becca, who collapsed in a fit of giggles in the corner while Winnie just squinted at him until she cracked, too.

“God love ya, James Buchanan, you’re a real piece of work,” she chastised him, even as she opened her arms to welcome him in for a hug.

Maybe things were going to be alright, after all.

* * *

Everything was right as rain until it hit again in April. He woke heat-sick with fever and chills, but worse that that was this overwhelming emptiness, missing something so damn intense that he thought he might die from it, even though he didn’t know what, exactly, he was missing. Well, scratch that.He had a pretty good idea of what he was missing, seeing as how his omega screamed it inside his head until it ached.

_Alpha alpha alpha._

But fuck if Bucky knew how to fix that ache, especially when every other part of him longed for a sassy little unpresented bag o’ bones made of equal parts tiny, righteous fury and huge affection. Sure, he enjoyed going out dancin’ and neckin’ with gals like Mary, but when he dreamed, it was always the same. Always those fierce blue eyes and plump pink lips, always the one Bucky knew he could never have.

It hurt, being around Steve during his heat, when every cell in his body sang out to be touched—to be used and filled, to be ridden hard and put away wet—but his heart and mind and soul wanted all that from _his_ _Stevie_ and knew it couldn’t happen.

At least Steve didn’t treat him any different when he found out, didn’t shrink away in disgust like his Ma did. Didn’t look at him with those beautiful baby blues full of pity or anything, even though Bucky knew he must feel that way. How could he not? Bucky was supposed to the big and strong one, always protecting his scrappy pal, saving his ass when he got into scrapes with bullies, and now here he was, a goddamn submissive _omega_ and how could Stevie _not_ think different of him? But god bless him, Steve didn’t act at all different, somehow managed to make Bucky feel like everything was the same as always between them. Even when Bucky was leaking slick like a goddamn faucet just because Steve brought him his homework and smelled like the ocean.

Thank god for small blessings, right?

* * *

_Third time’s a charm, my lily-white ass._

Bucky _stupidly_ thought he’d get a better handle on this shit as time went on, but everything flew right out the window when his third heat came on hard and fast and _days_ earlier than it shoulda, right after Steve’s birthday.

This one was even worse than the first. Bucky was sick with it, all of it, with the inescapable inevitability of it all; this was the mortifying reality looming over the next 25 years of his life, if he was lucky enough to go through the next change early. 

The searing intensity of the cramps made him nauseous; the fever left him hot and sweaty or chilled to the bone, sometimes turning on a goddamn _dime._ It was too much, it was all too fucking _much._ And he was fucking _exhausted_ from overwhelming need, the desire to scratch an itch inside he couldn’t quite reach. Even good old Number 4 wasn’t cutting it this go ‘round.

And, well. What happened with Steve. Bucky decided he’d just pretend that didn’t happen, no siree, Bob. He most assuredly _did not_ call Steve darlin’, and he absolutely definitely _did not_ reach out and paw at him like some mannerless lug. Nope, didn’t happen. Thankfully, Steve was a true pal, and let sleeping dogs lie.

* * *

Bucky didn’t want to think about his ma right now, or his sisters, or any of it.

 _Pervert. Pervert. Pervert._ George Barnes’ drunken insults echoed through his mind. _Get your pervert ass away from my girls, fairy._ Bucky’s face hurt from where George had sucker punched him; his heart from where his ma just stood there and watched it happen. Watched all of it and didn’t say a damned thing.

It didn’t take long to clear out his stuff from his bedroom.

It didn’t take long to vacate the premises, seeing as how George and Winnifred Barnes wouldn’t even let him hug his little sisters goodbye.

His ma didn’t say a word to him before he left for good. Maybe she thought he deserved it. That thought broke Bucky more than anything.

At least he still had Stevie. 

Even when he had absolutely nothing else, at least he had Steve and Sarah Rogers. 

If only he could have Steve in all the ways he wanted him.

* * *

If only.

Maybe this was a mistake. A huge mistake. A mistake of honest-to-god epic proportions. The stupidest goddamn mistake Bucky had ever made.

Bucky was on fire, burning all over; the fever was worse than it had ever been, and he’d been in too much of a hurry to grab the elixir from the kitchen when he left his apartment, and now everything fucking _hurt._ And goddammit, it was worse, somehow, lying here in Steve’s bed, because he was overwhelmed by the scent of him, the smell of sea spray and sunshine on a summer day, and it smelled like _comfort_ and _Steve_ and _home,_ and it made Bucky ache with wanting.

_Stevie._

God, his dick was so hard, and the slick was running down his ass crack and dripping onto the bed, and how the fuck was he gonna get Steve’s sheets clean without the humiliation of it all? And holy mother of god Steve was _right there,_ dammit, just on the other side of that threadbare sheet, and was he really gonna do this?

Fuck it. He’d be quiet. Quiet as a mouse, but he just had to do _something_ to relieve the ache. Bucky reached underneath the pillow and grabbed good old Number 4. He slid his fingers between his cheeks and teased at his hole, already soft and pliant and pulsing with need. He bit his tongue to stifle the moan as the first finger slipped inside; bit harder as he added a second and then a third to work himself open just enough. He wanted to feel the burn of it ashe pushed the bullet inside, wanted to imagine he was getting fucked open to take an alpha knot. He used his own slick to lube up the dilator, and then slowly worked it in. Shallow thrusts at first, slow and steady and teasing because he remembered he needed to be quiet.

Once the dilator was fully seated, Bucky sighed at the sensation, even if he didn’t quite feel full enough, but it was better than aching emptiness. He clenched around the bullet, let his hips roll and gyrate, and whined a little at how the dilator shifted inside him until _fuck yes there. That’s the spot._ Bucky couldn’t quash the moan that escaped his lips as he wrapped a tight fist around his cock, but it just felt so good, so so good, to be curled up in the smell of ocean and sunshine and _alpha_ and _mate_ and Bucky just let go, stripping his cock faster and harder until he was almost at the edge.

“Hnnngh.”

Bucky was too far gone to stop but the sound from the other side of the curtain ripped through him like a goddamn freight train.

_Was that Steve?_

It had to be the fever making him delirious; that’s all there was to it, but fuck if it didn’t push him closer to the finish line to think about it. To imagine Steve on top of him and inside him and wrapping those artist-delicate fingers around him and kissing him and oh _god, wouldn’t that be just a little slice of heaven on earth?_

He tightened his grip, pushed his hips down harder to drive the dilator deeper, and the words just slipped out, “Yeah, like that…” but he managed to rein himself in just in time, biting down on his lip until the “Stevie” threatening to escape just dribbled out in blood. With one final, unbidden groan, Bucky was coming all over himself, spurting hot and wet, the salt of his tears mixing with sweat as he let his head flop back on the flimsy pillow.

Bucky panted as he came down from his orgasm, listening as hard as he could for evidence that he wasn’t just imagining it, that Steve was getting off on the other side of the sheet. But it was silent, save for Steve’s irregular breath as he slept. Bucky frowned at the sound of it, of Steve’s ragged breaths, worry suddenly clouding his brain. He’d been doing so good lately, hadn’t had an asthma attack in forever.

It took a long time for Bucky’s mind to settle enough to allow him to drop into a restless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just let me die._

Bucky was pretty sure that God was punishing him. That had to be it; He’d seen Bucky’s thoughts about Steve and then decided to punish him in the most mortifying way possible.

Sarah Rogers.

More specifically, Mrs. Rogers talking to Bucky…about Steve.

Her soft hand was cool against his fevered cheek, and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned into it, soothed by her comforting touch even as it made him miss his ma all the more. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze; instead, he kept his chin tucked toward his chest, daring only occasional quick, nervous glances through his lashes.

Damned heat hormones, making him want to cry for home while’s he got a raging hard-on and slick dripping from his ass, drenching his sheets.

“He hasn’t realized it yet, you know,” she said quietly. “He’s still convinced that he’s going to present as an omega.”

Wait. _What?_

“Wh-whaddya mean, Miz Rogers?” Bucky swallowed in a harsh gulp of air, because there’s no way that she could mean it. It was too much to even begin to _consider,_ let alone start to hope for.

“Think about it, James. He’s been showing signs for a while now,” Mrs. Rogers continued, “and I’m pretty sure that you’ll be able to figure out what started it, if you try.” Her watery blue eyes were so kind as she spoke, so _knowing_ , and Bucky felt his whole face just crumple up from the intensity of it.

“H-he’s an…Stevie’s an a-alpha?” he managed to choke out, his bottom lip quivering something fierce, but he just couldn’t make it stop. 

“Not just _an_ alpha, dear. I’m pretty certain he’s _your_ alpha.” She smiled at him, the bright warmth of it spreading across her delicate features until she seemed lit up from within, glowing from the love and compassion that overflowed from her heart and spilled into her son’s, and Bucky was dumbstruck. Overwhelmed. 

“Y-you…you don’t—you don’t…m-mind ‘bout,” he whispered, the words of George Barnes and so many others suddenly ricocheting in his head, “if Stevie’s….y’know, with ah—I mean…uh…m-me?” 

Taking firm hold of his face, Mrs. Rogers pushed Bucky back so that she could look him in the eye. “James Buchanan Barnes, don’t you _dare!_ I will _not_ have you down on yourself for something outside of your control, no matter what that good for no—no matter what lies George Barnes may have put in your head!”

Sarah closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and shook her head, and then pulled Bucky tight to her chest, wrapping him up in her small, strong arms. For several long moments, an awkward silence filled the space between them.

The next time she took hold of his face, it was gentler, soothing. She wiped a damp tendril of hair from his sweat-slick forehead before pressing a soft kiss to the center. “Bucky, I have watched the two of you play together, grow together, and fall in love together. True mates are rare, dear. And for my Steven to have such a kind and loving omega as you? It’s a dream come true.”

Bucky couldn’t hold back the tears. She pulled him in close, let him burrow his face into the crook of her neck to at least hide the sight of his tears, even if he was blubbering and snotting up her dressing gown. His breath came in ragged pants as he cried, because he didn’t realize just how much he’d missed this, how much he _needed_ this, even if it wasn’t coming from his ma. To have _somebody’s_ ma holding him close and petting his hair and face and telling him it was okay, and _he_ was okay, and that he could just let go. 

He cried into her shoulder for god knows how long, and she let him. Mrs. Rogers just let him do it, sometimes stroking his hair or running a soothing palm up and down his spine, rocking him in her arms like a baby as she hummed “Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral” and murmured reassurances in his ear. And after a while, Bucky felt himself relax into it, into the comfort of Mrs. Rogers’ embrace, and let himself dare to believe what she said was true.

_Stevie._

_Alpha._

_Mate._

When Bucky next woke, shivering as the damp chill in the air clashed with the sweat clinging to his whole body, it was to the muffled sound of Sarah and Steve Rogers in the other room. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but that was besides the point. It wasn’t their talking that woke him up.

No. It was the smell of him. That familiar, sea salt and sunshine scent from before layered with something else. Still completely familiar, somehow, but also different, better, _more._ Swimming in the ocean and relaxing in Central Park right after they’d cut the grass. Like all his favorite days tied up into one, days he remembered spending with Stevie.

Steve. _His_ Stevie. _Alpha_ Steve.

Bucky’s heat flared up worse than ever as he scented the air. Slick pooled beneath him as he sat up, his whole body flushed—how much was from fever and how much arousal, Bucky hadn’t any clue—and it was all he could do not to call out, to beg for it.

_Fuck me, Alpha; knot me, breed me, please, Alpha._

_Please, Stevie._

Bucky wanted so much, so desperately. And yet, something kept holding him back.

_Bucky, I have watched the two of you play together, grow together, and fall in love together…_

Could it be true, what she said? Bucky would give…god, he would give damn near everything for it to be true. For Stevie to love him back after all these years of wishing and hoping.

But what if Steve _didn’t_ want him? What if Mrs. Rogers was wrong about it all?

Just the thought of that rejection made Bucky hurt. He couldn’t risk losing his best pal just because he was hopelessly in love with him. He’d rather pine away forever in silence. He could make it work, somehow.

Bucky wrapped himself up in Steve’s blanket, let himself be comforted by the smell of Steve around him. If he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could almost imagine it was real, Steve’s arms holding him tight, his lips brushing against the curve of his neck, soft and sweet, murmuring against his heat-sensitive skin.

“ _Love you, Bucky, my sweet omega. Til the end of the line_.”

Marking him, biting him, claiming him. Mating him.

Oh, but god did Bucky _want._


	5. Chapter 5

_Fuck._ There was no denying it. Biological imperative and all that shit.

Bucky’s omega had vibrated with need and want at it when Steve walked toward him, holding a glass of water in front of himself like a goddamn shield. Bucky could fucking _smell_ it on him, the smell of alpha arousal wafting all around the room like a goddamn smoke bomb.

And Steve still didn’t get it. Bucky had probably been a little snappier than he should’ve been when he took the water and elixir from Steve, but he’d _had to._ Steve just didn’t understand it, didn’t know what he was doing anyway, and Bucky could _never_ take advantage of his pal like that. It was probably just the hormones, anyway. He couldn’t get his hopes up.

So he’d maybe taken a little more than a proper dose of Miz O’Meara’s elixir—since it was more’n half alcohol and always helped him sleep, if nothing else—and fallen into yet another fitful sleep.

It hadn’t helped. A few hours later, Bucky awoke with a start, the air in the room stiflingly thick. He was overwhelmed by it, by the lingering scent of aroused alpha, of _Steve,_ and it was just too much. It was all _too much,_ and it made him ache with it, with the need to touch Steve and be touched by Steve and feel the warmth of Steve’s breath against his skin. Bucky was only human, right?

_Bless me father, for I’m about to sin._ Goddammit, there was only so much he could take.

Bucky slowly, awkwardly made his way out from between the sweat-soaked sheets and peered around the privacy curtain.

Steve was so beautiful in his sleep, golden lashes fanned out against flushed cheeks, the sweetest little sighs and moans escaping those plump pink lips.

“Bucky,” he whimpered, a breathy little thing, and Bucky felt his heart stop. _Bucky,_ he’d said. _Bucky Bucky Bucky._ If this was a dream, good lord, Bucky hoped he would never wake up.

On shaky legs, Bucky breached the distance between the two small beds, his heart pounding so loud and fast in his chest he was surprised with every beat it didn’t explode into the room. Maybe he could let himself have this, in the dark, in the night where Stevie wanted him, allowed himself to want Bucky, and it would all be okay, for just a little while.

Carefully, he lifted Steve’s blankets and slipped between the sheets. God, Steve smelled good. It felt so good, so _right_ to snuggle in close, to tuck his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, to feel his own breath heating up Steve’s skin.

_This,_ Bucky felt the tears welling up at how this felt like coming home, _this is what I’ve been missing._ A contented sigh escaped his lips, unbidden, as he nuzzled in closer.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, and Bucky felt the first tear slip down his cheek, “what’re you doing?”

_Please please please please don’t make me go, Stevie._

“I need—…I need this,” Bucky managed to stutter out, his tongue suddenly about three times too thick and heavy in his mouth.

_Please let me stay, Stevie._

“Just let me get next to you, champ. Only for a little bit, I promise.” 

_I need you so bad, Stevie. Please._

“Okay, Buck,”Steve’s voice was soothing, even though Bucky could smell the anxiety wafting off him, feel his pulsing racing just beneath the surface of the perfect, ivory skin of his neck. “I’m here for you.”

But underneath the uncertainty, Bucky realized—realized with a hope so desperate it made him want to sob—he scented, he _felt_ something else, something _more._ But even then, Bucky couldn’t allow himself to trust it. He needed to protect Steve from his own damn hormones, just in case.

“Put your arms around me, Stevie. Hold me tight, like you mean it.” His voice cracked as he spoke, because it would break his heart if Steve had to do what he was about to offer. “Kiss me, if you can. Pretend I’m a dame, if it makes it easier. I don’t mind.” 

_Bullshit, Barnes. Bull. Fucking. Shit._

For long moments, his offer hung in the air between them. Bucky was ready to drown in the desperation of it as Steve lay there, staring at him, almost like he was staring through Bucky’s skin to look right into the very core of him. That searching look, Stevie’s big, ceruleanblue eyes, Bucky was lost in it, frozen forever in that beautiful blue, mesmerized, dazzled, desperate with hope and desire, waiting for Steve to break his heart or make his wildest dreams come true. It could go either way, Bucky wasn’t sure which would happen, but if he stayed here, suspended in this moment, in Steve’s crystal gaze, everything would be okay.

“I don’t gotta pretend, Buck. Been wantin’ this for a long time. ” Steve’s words tumbled out in a near-growl, and if Bucky weren’t lying down already, he’d have stumbled to the ground because he was pretty sure all his bones just turned to jelly. He sighed as soft lips touched his, his whole body melting into the press of Steve’s lips to his own.

This was it, what he’d wanted for so damn long, and it was better than he could’ve hoped for. Steve holding him, skinny arms pulling him tight as they kissed, soft and slow and sweet. Bucky melted into it, into Steve’s touch, his kiss, his _everything._ The painful, jolting heat flaring through his body transformed into something else, something warm and tingly that spread from his center all the way out through his toes, and it was perfect. He was still on fire, every nerve ending alight with jolts of electricity. But _this_ fire? Bucky’d lay down and let it consume him, gladly.

_Alpha. Steve. Mate. Mine._

When Steve deepened the kiss, Bucky submitted readily, opening up to the wet glide of Steve’s tongue against the seam of his lips, sighing at its gentle exploration of his mouth. _So good. So so good._ He pushed into it, wanted more, _needed_ more, and Steve complied. His sweet, giving alpha slid one of those beautiful artist’s hands up to cradle Bucky’s jaw, swept his fingertips over the swollen gland in his neck.

Bucky arched his back at the touch, gasping. “Yes, Alpha, _more_ ,” he murmured, his body writhing in pleasure at the feel of Stevie’s fingers brushing against that sensitive, swollen spot. And before he knew what he was doing, Bucky had twisted and rolled them both so that he was on his back, legs spread open, with Steve on top of him, nestled between his thighs.

_God bless America,_ Bucky was in heaven and desperate for more. More of Steve’s touch, more of his lips, more of his _everything_. For the first time in forever Bucky felt fully at ease, content _._ Wrapped up in Steve’s arms and in his scent, and Bucky felt right. He felt right, and he felt safe, and he knew he was _home._

And then, all of a sudden, Steve was gone, reared up on those knobby knees and staring down at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Buck, stop, wait,” Steve was stammering, shaking his head. The too sickly sweet odor of Steve’s uncertainty was overpowering, contaminating that intoxicating (aroused!) alpha scent like spoilt milk, and this was the _opposite_ of what Bucky wanted.

_Goddammit,_ Bucky pushed himself up to a seat, _it’s now or never._ Bucky gulped in a big breath and readied himself to lay his heart on the line.

_Here goes nothing, Barnes._

“I’m sick of waiting,” he licked his lips, hoped he looked more confident than he felt as he steeled himself so that he could continue, “I been sweet on you since before this whole mess started, Steve. I just didn’t wanna admit it. And now I can’t help it.” Bucky chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he watched Steve, waiting for him to respond.

“What do you mean? What about Dot, and the other girls?” Bucky couldn’t help but grin a littleas he watched Steve do his best impression of a dying fish, gaping down at Bucky like he was staring at one of the freaks at Coney Island. But the curdled milk smell was going away, leaving Bucky wrapped up in the comfort of sea spray and sunshine and cut grass, and how could he _not_ smile about that?

“Call me greedy,” Bucky shrugged, a little—okay, a _lot—_ sad that Steve couldn’t see just how perfect he was, “Dot and them were great—they’re pretty, soft and they smell nice—but they weren’t what I really wanted, or needed. Not like you.” He reached out to stroke Steve’s cheek, and tried his damnedest not to take it personally when Steve shied away. It hurt bad enough without the added insult of rejected omega, for fuck’s sake. Bucky tried to remember that Stevie still hadn’t figured it out. _Your alpha ain’t rejecting you, ya mook,_ he reminded himself, _he just don’t know what he is._

“I ain’t no alpha, Buck. Just look at me.” The pain in Steve’s voice broke his heart. For the zillionth time in his life, Bucky wished he could make Steve see himself through Bucky’s eyes.

“Can’t judge a book by its cover, champ.” And even though his omega was screaming with the need to envelop Steve in his embrace, nuzzle his face into the scent glands of Steve’s neck, rub his face all over Steve’s wrists and chest and neck, scent-marking him and comforting him as best he could, Bucky held back. He reached out, gently coaxing Steve by the chin to meet his gaze. “I been lookin’ at you for years, Steve. Know what I see? A guy who stands up for what he believes in, even if he gets knocked down for it. Someone who’s smart, brave and kind, always doing for others. Sure sounds like an alpha to me.”

A flush began to bloom, spreading up from neckline of Steve’s nightshirt, painting the perfect alabaster of his cheeks with a dusky rose made all the more beautiful by the silvery tint of moonlight through the small window. Bucky watched with bated breath as he saw his sweet, beautiful, stubborn as fuck alpha wrestling with his own bull-headedness, wanting to believe what Bucky was saying but still too damn stubborn to just _let_ himself. Bucky would just have to work harder to convince him.

He took a deep inhale and continued, “Besides, you smell so goddamned good, sweetheart. Like a walk through Central Park right after they cut the grass.”

“But what does that really mean? Don’t all omegas give off scents?”

Goddamn, but Steve was one stubborn little fuck. Bucky bit back the chuckle, and kept going. “Yeah, but they don’t smell right to each other. Neither do alphas. That’s why you thought Miz O’Meara was making cider; she smells like apple pie to me.”

Steve opened his mouth, probably to argue some more, Bucky thought, fondly, before he kept talking. Best to just not give Steve the chance to talk back. “Jesus, but you’re stubborn, Steve. Always gotta know the whys and the wherefores. Trust me,” Bucky lowered his voice to a growl as he felt a fresh wave of desire pooling in his belly, “I know what I want.”

This time, Bucky took control of the kiss, and did his damnedest to make Steve believe what he knew, with every fiber of his being, was truth.

_Alpha._

_Steve._

_Mate._

_Mine._

* * *

“C’mere, punk.”

Bucky pulled Steve in for another kiss, and it was good. It was so good; he was kissing Steve and Steve was kissing him back and everything was so good and _right_ and Bucky wanted to squeal in happiness. Steve loved him back; Steve wanted him back; and it was better than he could’ve hoped for.Bucky couldn’t help himself; he grazed his teeth against Steve’s bottom lip, loving how it made Steve squirm above him, loving even more how Steve retaliated, dipping down to nip along his jaw, teasing his teeth along the tendon straining in his neck. It was so good, it felt so good, Bucky arched into it, writhed underneath Steve’s small frame, and for the first time, felt the hard line of Steve’s erection pressing down against his own.

_Fuck._ He whimpered against Steve’s temple, rubbed himself against Steve’s leg as he felt the slick starting to dribble between his cheeks. It felt good, so so good, Steve’s hard-on rubbing so close to his own, their hot skin separated by just a couple threadbare layers of fabric. And then Bucky’s vision whited out and he couldn’t bite back the moan because _oh Mary mother of Christ_ that’s Steve’s hand on his dick.

“Stevie, _please,_ ” he gasped, eyes rolling back in his head at Steve’s tentative touch. At least, he thought he said that out loud, was pretty sure he did, but when Steve didn’t answer him he wondered if maybe he’d only thought it. Or maybe Steve was just too caught up in his own pleasure to notice. Six of one, half dozen of the other, probably. But whatever, it didn’t matter; Stevie was touching him, running his now spit-slick hand up and down Bucky’s shaft, thumbing across his cockhead on alternating upstrokes, and it felt so goddamn good Bucky wanted to cry. He rocked up into Steve’s touch, let himself get lost in it, and it was just so so so good.

Eventually, though, he realized it wasn’t enough, and the humiliation of it made his cheeks burn. He was so wet now, the slick leaking from his hole worse than it ever had before, and Bucky knew what he needed. He knew it and was terrified because what if Stevie didn’t want to do it?

“I—uh,” Bucky struggled to get the words out, his voice barely more than a husk as he admitted it, not only to Steve, but to himself as well. It was one thing to jerk off with his dilators, another thing completely to ask his best pal to stick his fingers into Bucky’s ass. “I need more, Stevie. I…I n-need you to touch me.” He took in a stuttering breath, willing himself to continue, “Back further, inside. Don’t think I c’n come without it.”

Bucky had to lower his gaze, look anywhere but Steve, afraid at the possibility of Steve’s disgust, or his pity, or his rejection, Bucky wasn’t completely sure what scared him most. He waited for what felt like a thousand eternities for Steve to respond, only letting go of the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding at the lilt of Steve’s voice as he kissed his words into the sweat-damp skin of Bucky’s temple, “Okay, roll over on your side, sweetheart.” And of course, Bucky obeyed; he would always obey; he’d do absolutely any goddamn thing Stevie asked of him. _Til the end of the line_. And beyond, probably.

It was awkward at first, of course it was awkward, how could it not be? But the awkwardness passed quick as they both relaxed into it, into the slick glide of Steve’s finger, in and out, deeper and deeper with each thrust, until Bucky was lost in it. He was lost in the feel of Steve’s hand wrapped tight around his cock, his finger sliding inside him, and all embarrassment or shame died away, leaving nothing but warmth and desire and pleasure and _love_ in its wake. More, he realized, he needed more, and he knew his alpha would give it to him, all he had to do was ask. And so he did, and was rewarded by a second nimble finger stroking inside of him, reaching parts of him Bucky had never reached on his own, and it was good. It was good, it was perfect, and before he knew it was happening Bucky was coming, coming harder than any orgasm in his life by an order of magnitude, and it was all he could to do hold on as Steve milked him for everything he was worth. He was still shaking through the aftershocks, his breath coming in rough pants as he came back to his senses enough to register the fingertips running up and down the length of his arm, the sound of Steve’s voice, soothing and quiet as he whispered in Bucky’s ear. “You okay, Buck?”

How could he even ask? How could he not _know_? “That was,” Bucky started to speak, but words wouldn’t do. Words weren’t _enough_ to express just how far beyond _okay_ Bucky was. He captured Steve’s lips in a desperate kiss, moaning as he thrust his tongue into Steve’s mouth, claiming and possessing in a way that utterly belied that omega need to submit to his alpha, and reached between their bodies to take hold of Steve’s rock-hard dick.

“Wasn’t about to leave you hangin’,” Bucky giggled, low and gravelly against Steve’s mouth, then gave his cock a few rough tugs, thumbing over the wetness at the tip. _Hey, there’s an idea._ The thought had barely glanced through his mind before Bucky was acting on it, slipping down between Steve’s thighs and darting his tongue out to brush the head of Steve’s dick, lapping at the precome gathered at the slit, the wrapping his lips around the head.

God, but it was good. Steve’s delicious alpha scent layered with the muskiness of his arousal, the taste of him, the salty tang of his precome bursting on Bucky’s tongue, the weight of him in his mouth. If he’d stopped to think about it, Bucky might’ve laughed at the visual of it; his little Stevie was carting a goddamn baseball bat around in his trousers. Proportions be damned! Bucky wanted to open himself wide and let Steve in completely in, wanted to fucking bask in the glory that was Steven Grant Rogers, wanted to let go and give his best guy everything.

“Buck, w-what are you doing?” Steve’s voice was a breathy sigh, all confused and off-kilter,and Bucky loved him all the more for it. Wanted to make Steve fall into as many pieces as he Steve had done for him. He gave Steve’s cockhead a gentle suck, then pulled away just enough to mouth his reply against the underside of the shaft.

“The best I can.” He traced a wet line up the side of Steve’s dick, then swirled the tip of his tongue around the ridge. So what if Bucky had less than zero clue about what he was doing; he just wanted—scratch that, he _needed_ to make Steve feel good, to make him lose control. And so he licked and kissed the swollen head of his cock, moaning at the taste when more precome blurted from the slit, and then just opened wide, took him in as far as he could go, and sucked. And okay, so maybe he was a little uncoordinated, and maybe he snagged Steve just a little with his teeth, but Steve begged him to keep going, so it couldn’ta been _that_ bad, could it?

Before he knew it, Steve was squirming and writhing and tensing up beneath him, tugging at his hair, panting, “Wait, stop, ‘m gonna…” and holy mother of god there was no way in fucking hell Bucky was gonna pull off now. He pushed himself further down Steve’s cock and hummed, and there it was. _Fuck._ Steve was coming in his mouth, pulsing hot and wet deep into his throat, and it was all Bucky could do to hold on, to swallow around him as he came and came and came. And okay, so he didn’t quite get it all, and some of it dribbled out the corners of his mouth, but who’da thought a scrawny little guy would have so much spunk in him? He dabbed it off with the wrinkled hem of his nightshirt, and then crawled his way back up to snuggle up against Steve’s shoulder while he came down from the aftershocks.

He drew lazy circles on Steve’s chest, idly tracing the edges of scarlet from the gradually receding flush. Steve’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he panted, until eventually he settled back into stillness, throwing off the pillow he’d pressed against his face during his orgasm. Bucky watched him nervously for a few breaths, finally working up the nerve to ask, “How was—” but Steve kissed the question off his lips, kissed that anxiety out of Bucky’s brain with a forceful thrust of his tongue as he sought out his own taste in Bucky’s mouth.

“Bucky, you didn’t….” Steve trailed off, his eyes all full of wonder as he searched Bucky’s face, like he was gonna find the secret to immortality or the meaning of life buried somewhere in the crinkle of Bucky’s eyes. And who knows, maybe he was. Because Bucky sure as shit knew that Steve’s bright eyes and pouty lips and kind heart held the secret of happiness for him.

So what if maybe he got a little bit shy again when Steve looked at him all shocked and wide-eyed, almost like he’d just blasphemed in the middle of Mass, but fonder. He tried for nonchalance as he darted his gaze down toward the dip between Steve’s collarbones and shrugged. “What else was I gonna do with it, punk?”

Steve giggled at his answer, and it made Bucky warm all over to know he was the reason for it, for making his Stevie — his _alpha (swoon!)_ —loose that joyful little laugh.

“I love you, Bucky.” _Oh shit. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes._

_Alpha._

_Steve._

_Mate._

_Mine._

“I love you too, Steve.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Bucky woke to find himself wrapped up in Steve’s arms, his head nestled into the crook of a bony shoulder. Steve was still out for the count, snoring softly, and the warmth of Steve’s breath tickled his forehead. Bucky snuggled in closer and let the scent of his content, sleeping alpha wash over him. _Home._ A guy could get used to this, he thought lazily.

He was about to drift off again, cuddled up with Steve underneath Mrs. Rogers’ faded crocheted afghan, floating in that fuzzy space between sleep and wakefulness, when a pressing thought jarred him back to consciousness. _Steve’s ma._ They were in _her_ bed. He shook Steve just a little, a gentle jiggle of his shoulder, really, but all that did was make Steve curl in closer.

“Stevie?” he whispered, giving him another soft jostle. Nothing.

So he jabbed an elbow into Steve’s ribcage, startling an “Oof” from Steve’s throat. _There he is._ Bucky grinned like a smart-ass as he watched Steve’s face shift from the softness of sleep into an alert, if a bit confused, consciousness.

“You awake?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, mostly.” God, Steve’s voice was gravelly with sleep, and the roughness sent a zing of interest straight to Bucky’s dick.

“When’s your Ma due back from the hospital?”

“She’s working a double shift. Won’t be home til this evening.” _Oh thank fuck._ Bucky felt his shoulders relax of their own accord. Not that Mrs. Rogers hadn’t been a goddamn peach about all this omega stuff, mind you, but Bucky was pretty much at his limit for embarrassing things to discuss with Sarah Rogers, thank you very much.

Bucky settled back into the crook of Steve’s shoulder, relaxing into the feel of Steve’s fingers running through his hair all soft and gentle, and maybe he made an undignified little purr, but it just felt so good, the way his fella was petting his hair and nuzzling his lips against the top of his head. Bucky just melted into the intimacy of it, into how right it felt to be cuddled up in Steve’s arms like he was the small one. It felt so right that it took a few moments for him to realize that Steve’s hand had stilled, that he was making moon eyes at Bucky, and suddenly, Bucky felt himself go all nervous and shy again.

“A-are you okay w-with…last night?” He chewed on his bottom lip as he glanced up at Steve through his lashes, like that little bit of a barrier would shield him from any possible rejection. Because if there’s one thing Bucky had learned in his life, it was that if something seemed to good to be true, it probably was.

“Sweetheart, I am so much more than okay.”

And then Stevie was kissing him, and _yes, good, more._ That deep fire pooling in his belly licked its way out through his body, spreading through every single nerve and lighting him up from the inside out. Any uncertainty melted away as Steve cupped his jaw and licked into his mouth, then ran one of those nimble hands up and down Bucky’s torso. Bucky was safe and loved, here in Stevie’s arms, he was _home._

“I’m ready, Steve. Want to feel all of you, deep inside.” He breathed the words into Steve’s mouth, his eyes reverent and full of hope and love and longing as he spoke. He was nervous, yes, because this was so new, such a big step for him—for _them_ —but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was what he wanted. To let Steve inside him in a way he didn’t realize how much he needed. To be taken, knotted, claimed, _owned_ by his alpha. By Stevie.

_Please please please, Stevie._

“But, Buck,” Steve hesitated, wriggled his way out from under where Bucky was sprawled across his chest, and sat up in the bed. Bucky did his damnedest to soothe the anxiety he didn’t have to smell to sense wafting off of his sweet little alpha, even though the sour tinge of it was starting to overpower that delicious cut grass and seaspray.

“Y-you know I’ve never—uh, never even…” Steve’s cheeks reddened as he left off what he was saying, and Bucky was having _none_ of that, dammit.

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky slid a fingertip down along the side of Steve’s face, gently guiding his chin down so that Bucky could see those beautiful baby blues. “And if that means you don’t want to, or you can’t, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not that at all, Buck. I’m afraid I want to too much. I mean, last night, I was so close to just... _taking_ you.”

And fuck if the idea of being taken, of Steve all rough and demanding, didn’t make Bucky’s omega perk up, but goddamn Steve looked so broken and ashamed, and that wouldn’t do at all.

“But you didn’t,” he countered, because listing all the wonderful things about Steve Rogers came easier than breathing for Bucky. “And that’s one of the many things I love about you, darlin’. Your sense of what’s right, your willingness to put others first. I promise, Stevie, I woulda wanted to be with you even we weren’t what we are. But you are an alpha. _My_ alpha.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he said the words, as he watched Steve hear them and start to believe them. “And I’m your omega.”

Steve's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with lust. “Yes, you are. _Mine._ ”

Wild heat seared through Bucky’s body, his desire curling out like tendrils of wildfire from the top of his head down to the curl of his toes. He moaned at the ownership in Steve’s voice— _mine—_ and rutted against Steve’s hip.

“Let me see all of you, sweetheart.”

And Bucky obeyed, scrambled outta his nightshirt fast as he could. _Of course_ , he obeyed; he’d do anything for his alpha. Hell, he’d have done anything for Stevie long before either of them ever presented. Bucky was _Steve’_ s, til the end of the line, and he was finally starting to let himself believe that Steve was just as far gone for him.

_Stevie is mine._

He didn’t even try to bite back the dopey grin tearing across his face as he stared up at him, at the man he loved more than anything.

“How’s about you ditch yours too?” and so what if it sounded a little bit like begging? Shut up. “Wanna feel your skin on mine.” And _yes._ Bucky was rewarded with the sight of all that beautiful alabaster skin spread taut along the delicate lines of Steve’s body, and then Steve was kissing him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, kissing him like he was just as desperate for it, and Bucky was pretty sure that heaven must taste a lot like Stevie’s kisses.

Bucky lost himself in those kisses; kisses pressed to his lips, scraped against the stubble of his jaw, soft and gentle ones brushing down his sternum, the tease of his tongue and those plump lips sucking little marks into the sensitive skin of his stomach, and _holy mother of fuck_. His eyes shot open with a moan as Steve wrapped those luscious pink lips around his dick. No wonder Stevie’d shoved a pillow over his face, he thought a bit nonsensically while he tried—okay, and failed miserably, so sue him—not to thrust up into the velvety wet heat of that sinful mouth. And then he felt a fingertip teasing at his hole and _fuck,_ he couldn’t control his hips and how they were rocking, desperate to push his cock deeper into Steve’s mouth, to feel that finger breach his entrance.

_More, Stevie, please more._

Steve hummed in agreement around his cock, and somewhere in the back of his lust-addled head, Bucky realized he must’ve been talking out loud, but then he felt a second finger sliding in and there was no more room for words, no way to make them happen. Not now, when pleasure was flooding every last part of him and leaving him hungry for more more more. Bucky was writhing under his fella’s ministrations, whimpering and biting down, sharp teeth tearing into the flesh of his lower lip because it all felt so so _good_.

“Yes, god, yes. Try ‘nother one.” Was that even his voice, all whiny and desperate? The hell if he gave even the tiniest of fucks because Steve had slipped another finger into him and was twisting and curling and thrusting and _Jesus Mary and Joseph what the fuck was that?_ Bucky saw stars as Steve found that sweet spot deep inside him and he musta yelped at it, because all of a sudden Steve was still, both mouth and fingers and that just wouldn’t do at all. “No Stevie, ‘s good. Do it again,” he pled, desperate for more. Bucky shoved himself down on Steve’s fingers as hard as he could, chasing that starburst feeling again.

_Holy mother of god, it felt so good, and those are just his fingers._

“Need you alpha,” Bucky grunted, unabashedly fucking himself on Steve’s beautiful goddamn fingers like some goddamn needy whore. “Need all of you.”

And then Steve was moving, rising to kneel above him, and this was happening. This was really fucking _happening._ With heavy-lidded eyes, Bucky watched Steve slide his hand up and down his hard-on, getting himself wet and ready with Bucky’s slick, and it made Bucky’s mouth water. To see those long, delicate fingers wrapped around his flushed red dick, to see the fat, purpled head peeking out from his grip, the pearl of precome glistening at the tip… Steve made good old Number 4 look like child’s play. _Holy shit._

Bucky realized he was holding his breath, equal parts terrified and turned on at the prospect of that fat cock inside of him, and then there it was, Steve’s cock pressed insistently against his hole, and Bucky gasped at it, squirming beneath his beautiful, perfect alpha, unsure if he was trying to get closer or wriggle away.

“Gentle, darlin’,” he huffed out, nervous and unsure, but he needn’t have worried. Steve gazed down at him with such tender adoration that Bucky’s heart felt like it would pound right through his ribcage. And then…and then he was pressing forward and pushing inside Bucky and _oh my god._ They were doing this; they were _actually_ doing this; Steve was _inside_ him. Steve was _fucking_ him. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself yielding to the intrusion, welcoming Steve into him like he belonged there because _he did_ , and god, but it was beautiful.

Steve took it slowly, so goddamn slowly, took his sweet time working his way deeper until he was almost fully sheathed, until Bucky felt the sharp lines of Steve’s pelvis against the flesh of his ass. Content to be so completely full of his alpha’s cock, finally and at long last, Bucky breathed out a sigh, then opened his eyes to see Steve— _his sweet Stevie_ —panting and trembling above him, his delicate chest heaving. His eyes were glassy and unfocused as he worried that plump, kiss-swollen lower lip with his teeth. Bucky fell in love all over again at the sight of him. _Mine._

For seconds or minutes or fucking eternities—Bucky couldn’t quite wrap his brain around something as trivial the concept of time with Steve’s dick in his ass—Bucky lay there, watching the intensity on his beloved’s face, the quiver of his muscles, the concentration in the furrow of his brow. He was mesmerized by it, and let himself just relish the care Stevie was taking to hold back, to take care of him.

_But c’mon pal,_ Bucky found himself getting a little antsy, _you need to move._ He shifted, digging his lifted heel into Steve’s back, pulling him in closer so that Steve’s hips were flush against him, and _yes good._ The movement forced the sexiest goddamn sound Bucky had ever heard from deep inside Steve’s throat, a breathless, guttural moan that washed over Bucky like the tide, filling him with joy and ramping up his desire all the more. “Finally,” he panted, “I was starting to wonder whether you were havin’ a good time up there or not, champ.” He grinned at the blush that painted Steve’s flushed cheeks impossibly pinker.

“I’m not used to having an audience listenin' in.” And if Steve didn’t have his hands on Bucky, gripping his hip and thigh so hard Bucky could feel the crescents of his nails digging into the skin, he’d have been scrubbing a hand over his head, all shy and bashful, but still teasing and easy. This was Steve, this was him and Steve, and it was easy and achingly familiar because they were still _them_ , but with a lot more touchin’ and kissin’. 

It was beautiful; Steve was beautiful, sweet and beautiful, but right now, Bucky really needed to get fucked. He rolled his hips, just a little, just enough to remind Stevie that they had pressing matters to attend to. Steve answered his wordless request by pulling almost all the way out, then driving forward, and _Mary Mother of God_ he hit that spot again. And then again and again until Bucky was almost dizzy from it, from the pleasure Steve was pounding into him with _every. goddamn. thrust._

Steve fucked him like that, hard and fast and perfect. Bucky’s neglected cock throbbed between their bodies, teased impossibly harder by the friction of Steve’s belly pressed against his own. And all the while, he muttered loving obscenities, filth the likes of which Bucky didn’t know his fella was capable, and it was all he could do to hang on, to get pounded deeper into the mattress, to answer with the occasional, breathless “Yes, Alpha!” when he had the wherewithal to reply. 

Bucky could feel the orgasm building, the tension coiling at the base of his spine spreading heat from his core out through every synapse, even before Steve reached a possessive hand around his neck to press on his mating gland. “Let yourself go, dearest,” his alpha demanded, “come for me, omega.”

And what else could Bucky do but obey? Bucky cried out as he came, clenching tighter around Steve’s cock as his cock pulsed between them, painting their chests with his release. He was so caught up in the intensity of his own climax that he missed the beginning of Steve’s, didn’t see that beautiful face as he began to let go, shooting his load deep inside Bucky's ass. 

_Next time, dammit._

They both lay there, panting shared breath as they shivered through aftershocks, when Bucky realized that Steve was still buried deep inside him. And _holy fuck._ He squirmed as he felt Steve growing even larger inside him. _His knot_. Steve must have noticed it too, if his sudden attempt to pull out was any indication.

Bucky hissed at it, his whole body tensing up at the pressure against his rim.

“Buck, sweetheart, are you okay?” Steve’s voice was full of concern, and it made Bucky wanna cry at the sweetness, but he was still trying to pull out and _fuck_ that hurt. Thank fuck that knot wasn’t there a few minutes ago, he thought, somewhat hysterically. _Jesus_.

“It hurts,” he whimpered, and dammit, why did he have to go all soft like a dame _now,_ of all times? Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as Steve tried again to pull out. “Just” he shook his head, wrapped his legs tight around Steve’s waist to keep him from moving again, “just gimme a minute. I can do this.”

This time, Steve got the message and stilled his hips. He pressed soft kisses to Bucky’s sweat-dampened forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin. Steve carefully stroked his head and neck as he kissed praise into Bucky’s skin.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he mouthed against the bolt of Bucky’s jaw.

“Can’t believe how lucky I am to have you” to his temple.

“We’re almost there, just a little bit more,” nuzzled into the swollen mating gland in Bucky’s neck.

Gradually, Bucky’s tension eased, and he relaxed around Steve’s knot to the point that it started to feel good.

“Okay, that’s better,” he murmured sleepily, “much better. Wanna get a little more comfortable?” After all, Steve was still on all fours, kneeling above him, and that couldn’ta felt too good on his knees.

Steve furrowed his brows in concentration, searching Bucky’s face for any signs of discomfort like a sweetheart before he replied, “Yeah, if you think we can.” It only took a little bit of finagling to find a more comfortable position, and soon he was lying with his beautiful alpha sprawled out above him, his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder.

_This is perfect, B_ ucky thought as he felt Steve’s breath teasing his omega gland. _This is home._ Bucky was warm and safe, wrapped up in Steve and filled by Steve and it was absolutely perfect. He sighed happily, the movement of his chest causing Steve’s head to bounce just a little.

“How much longer are we gonna be like this?” Steve asked, turning so he could look Bucky in the eyes with those killer baby blues.

“Five, maybe ten minutes, according to Miz O’Meara,” Bucky answered, then waggled his eyebrows wickedly. “Why, you got a hot date or something?” 

“Yeah. But he ain’t goin’ anywhere either, I suppose,” and then Steve was kissing him again, and everything was exactly what it was supposed to be.

_Alpha._

_Steve._

_Mate._

_Mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to Neely for the hair pets and validation. You're the best! 
> 
> And a huge thanks to the mods for welcoming me into to the challenge and community at a time when I really needed to feel like I belonged.


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